New Life
Alexander found himself in a white expanse—vast, empty, stretching infinitely in all directions.
His breath hitched. The last thing he remembered was his computer exploding in white light, his world collapsing inward. And now…
He moved. Not his wheelchair. Not his hands gripping a joystick.
His feet.
His fucking feet.
He stumbled forward, nearly falling from the sheer shock of it. His legs—his legs—moved like they always had, like they never should have again. Solid. Strong. Real.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest. He bent down, running his hands over his thighs, his calves, his ankles—the legs he had lost years ago, the legs doctors told him were never coming back.
He took another step, then another, his breath coming faster.
"Holy shit…"
His voice cracked, his throat dry with disbelief.
He stomped the ground, testing it, feeling the weight of his own body. His balance was off—of course, it was—his body had spent a decade sitting, muscles forgotten. But he didn't care.
He could stand.
He could walk.
A laugh bubbled up from his chest, wild and raw. He ran—not far, not gracefully, but he ran. His legs ached, his steps wobbled, but he didn't fall.
For the first time in over ten years, Alexander Walker was on his own two feet.
All of a sudden, a black screen appeared in front of him, hovering in the empty white void.
The words on it were simple, almost too casual for how unsettling they were.
"Do you wish to generate your next life?"
Alexander blinked. My next what?
He looked around again—just more endless white. No doors, no people, no clues. Just the screen floating there, waiting.
Below the message were two options:
ACCEPT | DECLINE
His pulse picked up. The question didn't make sense, but neither did standing on his own two feet after ten years in a wheelchair. Neither did this place, this moment.
He swallowed hard. What happens if I hit decline? Would he wake up back in his broken body? Would everything just… stop?
He clenched his fists.
Screw that.
His hand moved on instinct. He hit ACCEPT.
The second he did, his chest tightened, his breath vanishing like it had been stolen. Something yanked at him—not physically, but deeper, pulling him from the inside out.
A sharp, gut-wrenching sensation tore through him as if something was ripping him away from himself. His vision blurred, the white expanse tilting, warping, collapsing inward.
His body—the one he had just gotten back—fell, lifeless.
The Void Trembled.
A voice, vast and ancient, spoke first, like the grinding of mountains against time itself.
"Impressive. Few mortals survive the crossing of the veil with their minds intact. This one endures."
Another voice, boundless as the sky, carried the weight of gentle certainty.
"He has suffered much, yet he does not waver. I see his choice… and it is stronger than the last."
A third voice stirred then, deep as the ocean and slow as the turning of the stars. It did not rush to agree.
"And yet, is endurance alone enough?"
The void pulsed, waiting.
"He was broken, once. Stripped of all but breath and will. What remains of a warrior who has lost his war? What remains of a protector who has failed to protect?"
Silence. The first voice, unshaken, rumbled once more.
"And yet he rose. Each time the world struck him down, he fought to stand again. What greater test is there?"
The second voice, warm like the morning sun, carried conviction.
"He has known loss. He has known pain. And yet he chooses to move forward. Do we not seek one who will not falter? One who will stand even when hope has burned away?"
The third voice remained still, hesitant, considering.
Then, with a flicker of something unseen, it spoke again.
"But he does not know. He believes this world is of his own making, a construct of thought and memory. He does not yet understand what awaits him."
The second voice sighed, like wind rustling through golden fields.
"It is how we have always searched. We cast a shadow of our world into theirs, waiting for one who walks the path without knowing. A thousand minds have touched it, but only one made the choice."
The third voice hesitated.
"And if he rejects what he becomes? If he bends beneath the weight?"
The first voice, steady as time, answered.
"Then he is unworthy. But if he endures?"
A pause. The weight of decision pressed upon the void.
Then, at last, the third voice relented.
"So be it."
And with that the realm of white disappeared into nothingness.
Alexander found himself staring at a baby.
Small, fragile, swaddled in cloth. But as he looked, it changed.
"Please choose your race."
Text hovered in his vision, and as he instinctively scrolled, the baby's form shifted with each selection.
[Nord] – The infant's skin paled, features sharpening, its small frame already showing the rugged strength of Skyrim's warrior people.
[Breton] – The baby's features softened, yet there was something keen in its eyes, an unseen intelligence hinting at innate magical potential.
[Imperial] – The child now had a poised, noble look, its presence exuding calm authority, as if it was born to lead.
[Redguard] – The skin darkened to a deep brown, the limbs lean yet strong, carrying the natural grace and endurance of Hammerfell's warriors.
[Khajiit] – Soft skin became fur, a tail curled beneath the cloth, feline ears twitching slightly. Its slitted golden eyes gleamed with an unnatural sharpness.
[Argonian] – Fur vanished, replaced by smooth scales, a row of soft frills lining its head. Its small, clawed fingers twitched slightly, and its eyes—reptilian and alien—watched.
Alexander exhaled slowly.
Each time he moved through the list, the baby changed. This wasn't a game. This wasn't some digital character creator.
This all seemed so real.
And now it seemed he had to choose.
Alexander tried to collect his thoughts—and for the first time in years, it was easy.
There was no fog, no sluggishness, none of the mental strain that had haunted him since his brain injury. His thoughts were sharp, like before the war. Before everything fell apart.
He had to be hallucinating.
Maybe carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe his mind had finally snapped from years of pain, drugs, and trauma. Or maybe… maybe he had completely detached from reality.
Then, without warning, a statue appeared before him.
It was Mara—goddess of love and compassion. He knew this statue. The same one from Alternate Start in Skyrim—the mod he had used a hundred times before.
His pulse quickened.
Then, the statue spoke.
"Greetings, mortal."
The voice was soft, yet vast, as if it came from everywhere at once, from the very fabric of this space.
"I am sure you have many questions, but I am bound by the fabric of reality. There is only so much I can reveal."
Alexander swallowed, his hands curling into fists. This was insane.
The statue continued, unwavering.
"You have been chosen."
A pause.
"Tamriel needs a champion. Skyrim needs a champion."
Alexander took a slow breath, his mind racing.
"Is this… real?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
The statue of Mara remained still, yet her voice carried forward.
"The universe is limitless. Realities are endless. Your world, your 'games'—they were merely the shadows of something greater. We reached into your world through them, waiting, watching, searching for one who would choose."
The air around him shifted. The void trembled as unseen forces pulled at its edges.
"The world is in chaos. Alduin, the World-Eater, has returned."
The words echoed—a weight pressing into his chest as the prophecy surfaced from his memory:
"When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world…
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped…
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles…
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls…
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding…
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."
Alexander shivered. He knew what was coming.
Mara's voice did not stop.
"Civil war will tear Skyrim apart. The sons of the North raise arms against the Empire, while the Dominion waits in the shadows to strike. The undead stir in forgotten crypts, while Daedric forces whisper in the ears of kings. The balance is crumbling."
Alexander exhaled slowly.
"So… you're going to tell me what to do?"
The statue of Mara remained emotionless, unmoving.
"No. That is not the way of mortals. You will decide. We can only influence. We do not control."
Alexander ran a hand down his face, letting out a quiet, bitter chuckle.
"Even if this is fake…" he muttered, "it's still better than my last reality."
Mara did not respond.
Because there was no need.
Alexander had already made his choice.
Alexander stared at the statue of Mara, crossing his arms.
"So what? I'm supposed to be the Dragonborn or something?"
The Aedra remained still, unblinking, her presence vast and unwavering.
"If you choose to be."
Alexander narrowed his eyes. That wasn't the answer he expected.
Mara's voice resonated again, calm yet absolute.
"If you choose to be, we have implanted a seed—a system to guide you. There are many powerful threats, some familiar, some unknown. It will be different… but similar."
Alexander took a slow breath, his mind racing. A system? That sounded… like a game. Like the mechanics he had spent thousands of hours mastering.
Before he could question it, Mara's voice continued.
"Will you be the honorable warrior, a Nord with a soul of steel? The fearless Orc, unbreakable in the heat of battle? The silent assassin, a Dark Elf lurking in the shadows? The thief in the night, a Khajiit who takes what he pleases? The master of the wild, a Bosmer bound to the forests? Or will you wield limitless magic as a High Elf, bending the arcane to your will?"
The images of each race appeared before him, shifting like the character selection screen he had stared at so many times before.
Mara's voice softened, yet there was something knowing in her words.
"These choices are yours to make, but we know you, Alexander. You will not be able to help yourself. You will face these challenges."
Her words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.
Alexander exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He had been thrown into warzones, survived death, fought cancer, and now? Now he was being handed a fresh start.
His lips curled into the faintest smirk.
Alexander frowned, crossing his arms. "So what? You just hand me powers? Do I get a constellation, a skill tree, some kind of perk system?"
Mara remained still. "You shall not. Instead, we have something else in store."
Then she stopped speaking. No further explanation. No cryptic follow-up.
Alexander waited, watching the statue with narrowed eyes. "…Okay?" He tilted his head, waiting for more.
Nothing.
"So, the races—do they have advantages? Unique skills?"
The response came immediately. "The world operates through Health, Magicka, and Stamina. Each race holds intrinsic talents, but not all follow the same path."
The statue remained motionless, but her voice carried forward. "The world itself functions through ranks—progressions of skill and mastery. Novice to Master, each tier broken into low, mid, and high. There is more, but you will learn in time."
A pause. Then, as if offering the only true answer she would give—
"You shall have a unique blessing."
Alexander exhaled, thinking that over. "Interesting." He smirked slightly. "Which I'll discover in time?"
"That is what it shall be."
Alexander ran a hand through his hair, nodding. "Alright. Show me my options. And with the racial benefits, too."
The moment he spoke, the baby before him changed. Not just an image—it morphed, shifting with each selection, reshaping as if it were growing into each race.
He looked at the menu exploring his options
Select Your Race
Nord (Children of the Snow, Warriors of the North)
• Racial Bonus: 50% Frost Resistance
• Intrinsic Affinities: One-Handed, Two-Handed, Blocking, Smithing, Speech
• Racial Perk: Gains faster combat mastery when training in One-Handed, Two-Handed, or Blocking
The baby's skin paled, its frame thickening with muscle even in infancy. Its eyes turned a sharp, glacial blue, and a faint mist of frost clung to the air around it. A true Nord, a warrior born of Skyrim's brutal winters.
Alexander moved the selection. The baby shifted again.
Breton (The Arcane-Blooded, Scholars of Magic)
• Racial Bonus: 25% Magic Resistance
• Intrinsic Affinities: Conjuration, Restoration, Alteration, Illusion, Speech
• Racial Perk: Gains reduced Magicka cost when training in Alteration or Conjuration
The infant's skin tone warmed slightly, its features softer, yet its eyes burned with intelligence. A whisper of unseen energy pulsed around it, something Alexander couldn't quite define—magic, woven into its very being.
Imperial (Blood of Emperors, Masters of Order)
• Racial Bonus: Finds more gold and earns better rewards from quests
• Intrinsic Affinities: Speech, One-Handed, Heavy Armor, Restoration, Barter
• Racial Perk: Gains enhanced Speechcraft influence when training in Persuasion or Intimidation
The child became poised, its presence unnaturally calm, almost regal. A baby, yet already exuding an air of command, diplomacy, and quiet power.
Redguard (Warriors Without Equal, Children of the Sands)
• Racial Bonus: 50% Poison Resistance, Faster Stamina Regeneration
• Intrinsic Affinities: One-Handed, Blocking, Smithing, Archery, Athletics
• Racial Perk: Gains increased stamina efficiency when training in aggressive combat styles
The baby's skin darkened, its limbs strong and lean, a natural warrior's build. Even as an infant, there was discipline in its form, a presence that spoke of battlefields and the Redguard's legacy of unbreakable fighters.
Khajiit (Born of the Moons, Masters of Shadows)
• Racial Bonus: Enhanced Night Vision, Increased Unarmed Damage
• Intrinsic Affinities: Sneak, Lockpicking, Pickpocketing, Acrobatics, Speech
• Racial Perk: Gains increased reflex speed when training in movement-based combat or stealth
The child's skin melted into fur, a tail flicking beneath the wrappings. Slitted, golden eyes snapped open, glowing faintly in the dim light. Its ears twitched, its tiny claws flexing. A predator, even as a newborn.
Argonian (Survivors of the Deep, Walkers of Shadows)
• Racial Bonus: Can Breathe Underwater, Increased Disease Resistance
• Intrinsic Affinities: Lockpicking, Sneak, Alchemy, Restoration, Athletics
• Racial Perk: Gains enhanced poison crafting when training in Alchemy or Assassination techniques
The fur vanished, replaced by smooth, scaled skin. The baby's nose flattened, gills visible for a split second before fading. A row of soft frills lined its head where hair should have been. It blinked, and Alexander swore its reptilian gaze watched him.
Dark Elf (Fire-Blooded, Masters of Shadow and Flame)
• Racial Bonus: 50% Fire Resistance
• Intrinsic Affinities: Destruction, Sneak, Illusion, Light Armor, Alchemy
• Racial Perk: Gains increased Destruction spell power when training in Fire-based magic
The child's skin darkened to ash gray, its red eyes burning like embers in the void. The temperature around it rose, not a blazing heat, but a slow, smoldering warmth that promised something deadlier underneath.
Wood Elf (Hunters of the Wild, Masters of the Bow)
• Racial Bonus: Increased Poison Resistance, Enhanced Animal Bond
• Intrinsic Affinities: Archery, Sneak, Light Armor, Alchemy, Acrobatics
• Racial Perk: Gains enhanced tracking and animal taming when training in Archery or Survival skills
The baby's form grew leaner, its frame almost unnatural in its agility. Its ears elongated slightly, its eyes sharp and aware. A creature of the wild, attuned to nature in a way no other race could be.
High Elf (The Masters of Magic, Children of Aetherius)
• Racial Bonus: Increased Magicka Pool, Faster Magicka Regeneration
• Intrinsic Affinities: Destruction, Conjuration, Alteration, Illusion, Enchanting
• Racial Perk: Gains increased spell efficiency when training in Magicka-based disciplines
The infant's skin took on a golden hue, its delicate frame carrying an unnatural grace. Its eyes were piercing, brimming with untapped knowledge and arrogant confidence, as if it already knew it was meant for something greater.
Alexander exhaled, his fingers hovering over the options. Every choice felt significant, like he wasn't just selecting a character but choosing his fate.
He had been a soldier, a survivor, a fighter—but who would he be now?
"Well then," he muttered, staring at the choices before him.
"Let's do this."